TIme After Time

3

Evanston, Illinois

When I push the door open, the little cluster of bells bangs against the glass and a guy standing over at the New in Paperback table turns around and gives me a quick glance. I step inside and look around. I’ve never seen the bookstore so crowded.

I walk down the main aisle, looking for Anna between the bookshelves. I’m halfway through the store when I see her behind the counter. She’s ringing up a customer, so I keep a bit of a distance and wait, and try to ignore my heart smacking against my rib cage.

Her hair is longer than I remember it, and it occurs to me that every time I saw her in La Paz over the summer she was wearing it up in a clip or a ponytail. It’s even curlier now, and I feel the familiar urge to pull on one of those strands so I can watch it spring back into place. What’s different about her? She looks tanned and happy and…somehow even more beautiful than before.

She’s making small talk with the customer, fingers flying as she punches numbers into the register, and then she takes his credit card and runs it through some loud contraption and hands his card back to him. And that’s when she sees me.

I just smile. I watch as her expression changes, morphing into this perfect mix of surprise and relief.

Anna looks back at the customer and pushes the overstuffed bag in his direction. “Here you go,” she says with giddiness that the moment doesn’t call for. Her eyes keep darting in my direction.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Any time. Have a good quarter.”

Instead of reaching for the bag, he rests one hip against the counter and watches her, like he’s expecting her to say something else. I wonder if he thinks that smile is for him. He is standing right in front of her, after all. But I can tell from this vantage point that she’s not looking at him, she’s looking past him. Anna has lots of different smiles, but the one she’s wearing right now is one she reserves for me.

“Bye,” she says, pushing the bag across the counter again, this time with more force, and he must get the message because he grabs it with both hands and heads for the front door.

She starts heading in my direction. “Shoot,” the guy says, “I almost forgot.” He turns around and struts back to the counter, and Anna returns to her spot behind the register, looking official again.

I watch her, picturing that surprised look she wore on her face just a moment ago. I think about how nice it would be to see it one more time.

No one’s ever in the Travel section, so I take a chance. Ducking back behind the shelves, I hide from her view and close my eyes. I picture the row on the opposite side of the store, and when I open them, I’m standing in it. I take my backpack off and set it down by my feet.

I can still hear her voice at the counter but now I’m too far away to make out what she’s saying. I stare down at the shelf marked with the word MEXICO, remembering the night I came in here last April.

I should have been studying, but couldn’t stop thinking about her. All day, I’d been looking for a chance to get her alone so I could tell her the second part of my secret, but I never found one. So before I could change my mind, I fed my arms into the sleeves of my jacket and walked to the bookstore.

Her face completely lit up when she saw me walk in, and all I wanted to do was kiss her. Instead, I told her I was there to pick up a book on Mexico. She led me over here to the Travel section.

At first, we talked about our assignment, but then she stopped me in midsentence and said, “I want to hear the rest of the second thing.” When I looked in her eyes, I knew she meant it. And so I told her everything. That I was born in 1995. That I’m seventeen in 2012. That I wasn’t supposed to be here. That I could visit, but I couldn’t stay.

And then, against my better judgment, I finally did what I’d wanted to do since the day I met her. I came up on my knees and I kissed her, no longer caring about my rules or where and when I was supposed to be. Just as I was about to pull away like I knew I should, I felt her hands on my back, drawing me in until we were pressed against the bookcase and there was nowhere else for us to go but closer to each other. I kissed her harder.

The bells on the door jingle, snapping me back to reality.

“Bennett?” I hear Anna call from across the room.

I duck around the corner and press my chest into the end of the shelving unit, keeping my eyes fixed on the aisle and waiting for her to walk by. I don’t see or hear her, so I stay silent as I listen for breathing and wait for her to come into view.

I’m just about to take a step forward when I feel her hands grip my sides. I jump.

“Gotcha,” she whispers in my ear. Her forehead falls against the back of my neck and her arms wrap around me. I can feel her breathing.

“That’s an understatement,” I say, bringing her hands to my face, kissing her fingers.

“I didn’t see where you went,” she says.

“Yeah.” I let out a small laugh. “Remember? I do that.”

“Just to mess with me.” I can hear the eye roll in her voice.

“Just to mess with you.”

“Maybe you should start thinking about doing more with this little talent of yours than surprising your girlfriend.”

“Say that last part again.”

She laughs. Squeezes me harder. “Surprising your girlfriend.”

I smile. “I like the way that sounds.” I loosen her grip on my waist and turn around. Her whole face is lit up so bright, I swear we could turn off all the lights in the bookstore and still see each other perfectly.

“Hi.” I twist a strand of her curls around my finger.

“Hi.” She reaches up and musses my hair. “You’re here,” she says, but something in her voice makes her sound unsure.

“I’m here.” I bring my hands to her cheeks. “I’ve missed you like crazy.” She presses her lips together and gives me the slightest nod, and before she can say anything I tip her head back and kiss her, softly, slowly, savoring the feeling of being here in this room with her again. I kiss her harder. And just like that first night, she kisses me back, pulling me into her, like she still wants me here and still trusts me with her heart, even though she probably knows by now that she shouldn’t.

4

When the clock reads 9:02, Anna walks the perimeter of the store, shutting off lights and adjusting books as she goes. I flip the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED, and we step outside. She presses some buttons on the keypad by the door to set the alarm, and clicks the deadbolt in place behind us.

I reach for her hand and we walk in silence toward the end of the block. The familiar sounds from the coffeehouse grow louder with each step, and I take a big whiff of the air, inhaling the scent. We’re about to pass the entrance when Anna stops. “Do you want to go in and get something? We could hang out for a bit.”

I peer through the window. It’s not nearly as busy as it is when bands play on Sunday nights, but it’s still pretty crowded. All of the couches are taken and the only option I see is a high table in the middle of the room. I’ve hardly been alone with her all summer, and I really don’t feel like sharing her with anyone else tonight. “I was hoping for something a bit quieter.”

She pivots so she’s facing me and reaches for my other hand. “In that case, you have two choices: my room or yours. Who do you want to face first, my parents or Maggie?”

I make the sound of a game-show buzzer. “I don’t like either of those. What’s my third choice?”

She laughs and shakes her head slightly at me. “There’s no third choice.”

“Sure there is.”

Anna raises her eyebrows and stares at me.

“We’ll bypass the parents and just sneak up to your bedroom. No one needs to know I’m in town yet.”

“Too late. I already told them you were coming tonight.”

I snap my fingers and laugh under my breath. “Damn.” Anna shakes her head at me again while I think about my options. “I’m not ready for Maggie yet,” I say, and Anna gives me an understanding nod and drops my other hand. We continue walking toward her house.

“So, how did they take it?” I ask.

“My parents?” She shrugs. “Pretty well, I guess. Mom was cooler about you being back than Dad was, which kind of surprised me. Actually, he wasn’t too upset until I mentioned that you came to visit me in La Paz. He wasn’t at all pleased about that.” Her head spins toward mine. “Oh, and I said you visited twice, not four times, so stick to that if he asks, okay?”

I silently hope he won’t ask. I’m also silently disappointed that she’s started lying to her parents. She didn’t do that before I showed up.

“I can’t tell what they really think,” she says. “The other night, my mom came into my room to tell me that she likes you, and that she’s glad we’ll get to spend our senior year together. She actually looked giddy when she started talking about homecoming and prom and stuff.” I feel the lump rise in my throat and I swallow it back down. “But then she and my dad must have talked about it again, because last night at dinner, they laid it on thick. I got this big lecture about making sure I continue to focus on my running and not let my grades slip because of you.”

“Because of me?”

“I know, right?” She winks at me. “As if.”

I raise one eyebrow. “As if?”

She shrugs again. “Come on, you’re not that big a deal.”

“Nah. Of course I’m not,” I say, suppressing a grin.

She squeezes my hand. “You are, you know?”

I squeeze hers back. “You are too.”

We pass the hedge that lines her neighbor’s yard, and Anna’s house comes into view. It looks exactly the same as it did when I left last May, with its wraparound porch and overgrown shrubs. There’s a soft light glowing from the kitchen window like it always does at night.

Once we’re inside, Anna leads me toward the sound coming from the living room. We turn the corner and I spot her parents. Mrs. Greene has her feet curled up underneath her and she’s resting her head on Mr. Greene’s shoulder. They’re watching some old TV show. Which, I instantly remind myself, probably isn’t old at all.

Anna stops at my side and grips my arm with both hands. The movement must catch her dad’s attention, because he suddenly looks up and sees us. His eyes grow wide and he gives Mrs. Greene a little nudge that makes her sit up straight. “Hi. We didn’t hear you come in.” He aims the remote at the TV and mutes the sound.

Mr. Greene stands up, extending his hand, and even though it feels overly formal for him—for us—I reach out and shake it politely. Anna’s mom gives me a halfhearted wave from her spot on the couch. “It’s nice to have you back,” she says, but her voice sounds hollow and insincere. Then she adds the word “Finally.” It’s not an afterthought; it’s more like it was the one word she was trying not to say, but couldn’t quite keep from slipping out.

“It’s good to see you both too,” I say. Then I stand there, nodding and waiting for one of them to say more and feeling my stomach sink. I should probably be happy they aren’t outwardly furious with me. After all, not only did I disappear on their daughter in the middle of a date, I disappeared from all of their lives in the middle of, well, everything. I know it would be too much to expect a motherly hug or a fatherly back-pat, and I was hardly expecting tears of joy at the sight of my face in their living room. But I was sort of hoping we wouldn’t be starting from scratch. Or, as it appears to be, less than scratch.

Anna gives my arm a squeeze and I look over at her. Unlike her mom’s blank stare, her expression speaks volumes. She’s beaming at me, her eyes full of joy and wonder, like she can’t believe I’m actually standing here. Without even thinking about it, I let out a relieved sigh and kiss her on the forehead; and she tightens her grip on my arm again and lifts herself up on her toes. She bounces in place a few times.

When I look over at her parents again, their eyes are locked on Anna. But then Mrs. Greene’s gaze slowly travels over to me and the corners of her mouth turn up in a half smile, almost as if she can’t help herself. I give her a grateful nod.

“How’s your sister doing?” Mr. Greene’s voice takes me by surprise and my head snaps in his direction.

“Um… She’s good.” I quickly come up with a way to phrase the rest of my response to give him as little information as possible. “It was touch and go for a while there, but she’s back home now.” I leave it at that and hope that he doesn’t press me for more information, because if he does, I’ll have to lie to him and I’d really like to stop doing that.

“All great to hear.” He waits for a moment, and then it looks like he’s about to say something else. “Ah, never mind, you probably don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not really,” I say.

The cagey thing probably isn’t winning me any points, but now that I think about it, that could be a good thing. If I’m starting at the bottom, I won’t have as far to fall once they learn the truth.

“We’re going to go upstairs,” Anna says, jumping in with a rescue. Before her parents can say anything else, she leads me out of the room. We’ve only climbed the first two stairs when we hear her mom yell, “Leave your door open.” Anna stops, gripping the banister with one hand and hiding her face behind the other.

She shakes it off. “Follow me. I’m dying to show you something.”

Not much has changed since the last time I was in this room. Anna’s impressive CD collection takes up every bit of shelf space, broken up only by the dozens of racing trophies that hold the alphabetized jewel cases in place. The walls are plastered with paper race numbers that were once pinned to her jersey and photos of her breaking through finish-line tape.

The bulletin board over her desk still holds the same lonely Pearl Jam concert stub from March 1994, but next to it I spot something new: a framed photo of Anna, Emma, and Justin. Emma’s mouth is open wide, like she’s squealing. She’s standing behind Justin with her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, and Anna’s on his right, her head resting on his shoulder. The picture must have been taken last June, after I left town but before Anna took off for La Paz. They look happy.

“How’s Emma?”

“Eh, not so good. I went over to her house right after I got home and she told me that she and Justin broke up over the summer.”

“Really? Why?”

Anna turns her back to me, runs her finger along the jewel cases, and selects one. “I don’t know why exactly, because I haven’t heard Justin’s side of the story yet—I stopped by the record store the other day and he was too busy to talk—but according to Emma, he doesn’t think they have enough in common…that they’re better as friends.”

She drops the disc in her CD player, and when the music begins, it sounds familiar, but I can’t place the song. But then the lyrics begin and I instantly recognize Alanis Morissette’s voice. I’m trying to recall which album this is when Anna says, “Have you heard this before?” She waves the case for Jagged Little Pill in the air, and I nod. “I love her. I’ve been running to this CD all summer.” I wish I could tell Anna that she has a lot more Alanis to look forward to, but I keep it to myself. Instead I tell her that I’ll look up the tour schedule and take her to a concert.

I spot the map that takes up the largest wall in her room. I walk over to it and stand there, counting the number of little red pins Anna uses to mark her travels. Nine, including the new one at the bottom of the Baja peninsula. Five more than the first time I stood here, admiring Anna’s intense desire to see the world and enjoying the idea that I could give her a small piece of it.

I turn around and find her standing next to me. “Here.” She hands me a small bag and I peek inside. My Westlake student ID. A blank postcard from Ko Tao. The postcard Anna wrote to me in Vernazza Square. A stubby yellow pencil. A carabiner. One of her pins. “You left them in your desk at Maggie’s. She thought I should hold on to them for you.”

“Thanks.” I remove the postcard from Vernazza, shooting her a glance as I run my finger across the edge. Anna’s watching me as I read it, and I feel myself suck in a breath when I get to the last line, wherever you are in this world, that’s where I want to be, and a wave of guilt washes over me. My chest feels heavy as I drop the card back in the bag and then toss the whole thing on the floor next to the door along with my backpack. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

Anna’s eyes light up. “Nope.” She turns on her heel and crosses the room. She crouches down low, wrestling with something underneath her bed.

“Close your eyes,” she calls over her shoulder.

Less than a minute later, I feel her behind me, her hands on my waist, pushing me forward. “Keep ’em closed. A few more steps. Okay, stop.” I feel her next to me. “You can open them now.”

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I’m not exactly sure where I’m supposed to be looking. But then I see something lying flat on top of her bedspread, and I take a few steps closer.

It’s a photograph, printed on a huge sheet of thick-looking paper. I recognize the tall rocks and jagged cliffs immediately. “Is that our beach?” I ask, but I already know it is. That’s the spot where I found her in La Paz. The same place I’ve arrived off and on all summer to surprise her during her morning runs. I lean in close to get a better look. “This is incredible. How did you find a print of the exact spot?”

“It’s not a print,” she says as she rests her hands on her hips. “I took it.”

I know nothing about photography, but it looks pretty impressive to me. I can see every tiny crack in the rock face, and the tall cliff is perfectly mirrored in the water below. “You took this?”

“Señora Moreno helped me.” I remember her telling me that her host mom in La Paz was also a local photographer. “I thought you could hang it on your bedroom wall.” She doesn’t clarify which bedroom and I decide not to ask.

“But wait…get this,” she says, holding up a finger. Anna undoes the Velcro on a black canvas bag and removes a 35-millimeter camera. Her thumb glides along the back and over the buttons. “Look what she gave me. I guess it’s pretty old, but I don’t care.” It looks ancient. I watch her twist the long lens, remove it from the body, and replace it with a fatter, stubbier one. She brings the camera to her face, and I can’t see anything but her mouth. I hear the shutter snap and a weird, motorized sound.

Throwing the strap over her shoulder, she reaches under the bed again and returns holding a large envelope. She plops down on the floor and motions for me to join her. We sit close together, our hips touching, and she shakes a pile of images onto the shag rug and tells me the backstory on each one. There are lots of beaches and rocks and vista point views, but my eye goes straight to a close-up photo of a man with dark, wrinkled skin, holding a guitar and wearing the warmest smile.

“These are really good,” I tell her. “Really good.” I watch the flush creep into her cheeks.

“They have this darkroom in their basement. I spent hours in there with Señora Moreno and her daughter, learning how to develop film. It was incredible.” She shrugs. “When I told Dad, he said he might be able to build one for me in that old shed in the backyard.” She reaches for her camera and aims it at my face. “Until then, it’s one-hour photo. Smile. I don’t have a single picture of you.”

I reach around her waist and pull her down onto the rug next to me. “There’s no reason for a picture of me if you’re not in it.”

She laughs as she extends her arm as high in the air as she can and aims the lens at us. Click. She kisses me on the cheek. Click. She sticks out her tongue and I crack up. Click. And then, in one fluid series of motions, I take the camera out of her hands, set it on the floor, and roll over on top of her, kissing her like I’ve wanted to all night.

But the longer we kiss, the guiltier I feel. I promised I wouldn’t keep secrets from her any longer. “Anna,” I say. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The knock is soft, but startling enough to send us scampering in opposite directions. The door was ajar as instructed and we didn’t have much time, but we move so quickly that by the time Mrs. Greene’s head pops in, Anna and I are already sitting up, a generous amount of shag rug between the two of us.

“Your dad and I are going to bed,” she says.

“Okay. Good night,” Anna says brightly.

Her mom clears her throat. “That means that Bennett needs to leave now.”

“Mom—” Anna huffs.

“It’s okay.” I stand up quickly and cross the room toward my backpack. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Anna. I squeeze past Mrs. Greene and into the hallway, heading for the front door.

I’m just about to turn the knob when I hear Anna’s voice behind me. “Wait a sec!” I turn around and find her halfway down the stairs. “Where are you going?” she whispers.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ll probably just go home and come back in the morning.”

She looks around to be sure her dad’s out of earshot. “What, like, home-home? San Francisco home?” She doesn’t add 2012 home, but I know that’s what she means.

“Yeah, it’s too late to go to Maggie’s now. Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll go over to her house and then we can go do something together.”

She shakes her head hard. “No. I mean, you’re here. You can’t just…leave.”

I don’t want to leave, but I picture the look on Mrs. Greene’s face a minute ago and think it’s probably better not to push my luck tonight. I go could back to San Francisco, to the tiny garage, and crash in the Jeep. Or I could go back to my room and hope my parents don’t walk in and find me. Come to think of it, maybe Anna’s right. I might be better off staying put. I could always sleep on the couch in the back room of the bookstore.

Anna holds up a finger. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Before I can say another word, she’s gone, flying back up the stairs.

I stand in the foyer and look around. On my left, I see the built-in bench, and on the wall above it, a row of empty coat hooks. It reminds me of the first time I came to this house. Anna had stayed home from school, and when I showed up, she took my jacket and hung it there. Then I told her my secret, showed her what I could do. Took her somewhere warm and far away. I consider doing it again tonight.

I hear her bare feet padding down the stairs. She’s holding an armful of bedding. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

My eyes dart to her parents’ bedroom door at the top of the stairs. “No way.” I rub my forehead hard with my fingertips and think about the idea. “Your parents actually said I could sleep on your couch?”

Anna nods. “Just for tonight. They agreed that it was too late for you to walk home in the dark. I told them you’d call Maggie and tell her not to expect you until tomorrow.”

“I can’t call Maggie,” I whisper in her ear.

“I know. Just pretend to do it.” She gestures toward the kitchen and I see the phone hanging on the wall next to the microwave. I cover my face with my hand. I wish I’d just said good night, gone outside, and poof, appeared back in her bedroom ten minutes later like I originally planned to.

“You can change in the downstairs bathroom.” She points to a door I’ve never noticed before. “I’ll go get you set up.”

5

I fluff up the pillow and twist around in the blankets. For possibly the tenth time in the last hour, I sit up, resting my hands on my knees and staring out the sliding glass door and into the Greenes’ backyard. According to the clock on the mantel, it’s a quarter after midnight.

The last time I sat on this couch, Anna and I were wrapped up in this exact corner while Justin and Emma curled up on the opposite side. We watched a movie and took turns reaching into an enormous bowl of buttered popcorn that her mom made for us.

I throw my feet onto the floor and stand up. I walk through the kitchen and into the hallway, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Her parents’ door is open a crack. Anna’s is completely shut. I’m about to close my eyes and bring myself to her bedroom, when I think of the look on her parents’ faces tonight. Sure, if they caught me in their daughter’s room, I could just go back five minutes, ten minutes, and do it all over. But going up there at all feels like a violation of their trust and I’m already on thin ice here.

There’s no reason to rush things. I have plenty of time to see her tomorrow, the next day. I turn around, shuffle back to the couch, and collapse with my head in my hands. After a while, I settle into the pillow again and close my eyes, attempting to empty my mind. I finally feel like I’m about to drift off when I hear something that sounds like breathing.

I crack my eyes open, lift my head up, and see a silhouette in the doorway. “Oh, God. I’m sorry,” Anna whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.… I wasn’t sleeping.” I sit up a little bit and gesture for her to come closer. She sits across from me on the coffee table. The sight of her, the sound of her voice in this room, fills me with relief. “What are you doing down here? What about your parents?”

“I checked. They’re asleep. Trust me, once they’re out, they’re out.”

She sweeps her hair away from her face and twists it around a finger, holding it against the back of her neck. “I couldn’t sleep either. I’ve just been lying in bed, staring at my map, and thinking that, for the last few months, we’ve had all this distance between the two of us, you know?” She lets her hair fall, and then pushes it behind her ears. “And it suddenly dawned on me that tonight—finally—there was nothing between us but a door and a staircase, and it seemed”—she blinks fast—“silly.”

I nod. “That’s definitely silly.” Even though the room is dark, lit only by the porch light on the back patio, I can see her blush. “I’m glad you remedied that.” I say.

“Yeah, me too.”

“But there’s still more, you know?”

Her eyebrows lower and pinch together. “What do you mean ‘more’?” she asks.

I stretch my arm out in her direction, angling it so my fingertip comes within a centimeter of her knee. “There’s this distance here—a whole arm’s length—which is really quite a lot if you think about it. This is, like, seventh-grade-dance kind of distance.”

She laughs quietly. “That’s not even silly. That’s just…unacceptable.”

“Right? And then there’s this,” I say, pinching a corner of the wool blanket she covered me with a little earlier. “What do you make of this?”

She reaches out, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and her forefinger. “Yeah, that’s definitely a problem.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

I start to pull the blanket back, but before I can, Anna moves from the coffee table to the couch, sealing the opening shut with her weight. “What did you want to tell me earlier?” Her dark eyes fix on mine and I feel a sudden chill that hits my core. I wasn’t expecting this turn in the conversation, and I’m trying to decide how to start, but she doesn’t give me time.

“You aren’t staying this year, are you?”

I shake my head no.

She rolls her shoulders back and looks up at the ceiling. “I knew it. Every time I’ve mentioned something about school, you’ve looked away and changed the subject.” Her gaze ping-pongs around the room. Now she won’t look at me. “Why not?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.” I sit up so I can face her straight on. “Look, I’ve been experimenting with this all summer. I even told everyone I was going on a two-week climbing trip and took off by myself. I pitched a tent where no one would find it and went to London. I wandered around, enjoyed the sights—missing you the whole time, by the way—but after three days, I was knocked back to the tent. The migraine was excruciating, but just like I did when I first got to Evanston, I immediately closed my eyes and brought myself back. It worked. I stayed another day, almost two. But then I got knocked back to the tent again. I kept bringing myself back, but each time…” I trail off, shaking my head, remembering migraines so debilitating I could barely open my eyes for nearly an hour. “The side effects got worse, not better. After a week, I closed my eyes and nothing happened.”

“Why could you stay last time?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I think it’s because Brooke wasn’t where she was supposed to be, you know? Like…things were off and once they were righted again…” Anna just stares at me, and I look at her, trying to figure out what she’s thinking. “The two must be connected, because once she got back, I couldn’t return here. And now it looks like my ability to stay here has changed too.”

She still won’t look at me and she clearly doesn’t know what to say. She brings her hands to her forehead and rubs hard, like that will help the information sink in or something. “So, what? This is how it’s going to be?” she asks.

“I don’t know. This is the way it is right now.”

I feel horrible. Back in the beginning, I prepared her for the fact that I couldn’t stay here with her. I never should have let her believe that I could. I never should have let myself believe that I could.

“But I want to come back. A lot. I figure I can’t visit too frequently or your parents will get suspicious, you know, but we can come up with, like, a schedule or something.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“If you think about it, this is how we always thought it was going to be, right up until Vernazza. Remember?” I stop one step short of saying what I’m really thinking: You already agreed to be part of the most screwed-up long-distance relationship on the planet.

She wrings her hands while she weighs the pros and cons of everything I’ve just said. We’ll be together, but not every day, like we were before, and not on either of our terms. We won’t go to the same school or hang out with the same people and, at least while we’re both still living at home with our parents, we’ll spend most of our days seventeen years away from each other. So many people take proximity for granted. We just want to be in the same place at the same time.

Her eyes are fixed on the carpet. “I can handle a lot, you know? I can handle everything about you and what you can do, but what happened last time…I can’t let that happen to me again.” She lifts her head and looks right at me. “I know you didn’t want it to happen, and I realize you didn’t do it on purpose, but you were here and then you were just gone, and when you didn’t come back, I…”

She grabs a strand of hair and twists it around her finger. I’m just about to speak when she opens her mouth and looks me straight in the eye again. “Here’s the thing. When you left, I sort of…fell apart.” Her shoulders hunch forward and she starts breathing faster. “I mean, I completely fell apart,” she repeats. “I don’t fall apart, Bennett, and I don’t want to be someone who falls apart and…” She inhales deeply and wraps her arms around her waist. “I can’t let that happen again.”

I look at her, bracing myself for what she’s about to say. What she should say. She wants me to leave. She doesn’t want me to come back here again.

“I need to think about it,” she says.

The words aren’t as bad as the ones I was expecting, but they still take me by surprise. “Yeah.” It takes effort to keep my voice steady. “Of course you do.”

She presses her lips together, hard, like she’s holding something in, and I realize she’s trying not to cry. But I wish she would. I wish she would just sit here and fall apart, like she apparently did when I left, because unlike last time, I could actually be there for her now. I could tell her everything I would have said then: That we’ll be okay. That this whole thing is weird and twisted and unfair to both of us, but especially unfair to her, because it’s always harder to be the one who’s left behind than the one who leaves. And I’d tell her that I love her, and that I’ll do anything to be with her, any way I can be.

“When are you leaving?”

I swallow hard. “Friday. I promised my mom I’d be home for the weekend. Brooke’s heading back to college on Sunday.” I start to tell her about our plans to take the boat out on the bay but I decide against it. “Then I start school on Monday.”

She gives me a sad smile. “Me too.”

We’re both silent for a long time. She scoots back to her spot on the coffee table, and I think she’s about to say good night and head back upstairs, but she doesn’t move. I can tell she’s contemplating what to do next, and I should probably stay silent and not say anything that might sway her decision to stay, but I can’t help myself.

“I’m here now,” I say quietly.

She looks up from under her lashes. Then her expression softens and a smile spreads across her face. “I’m glad.” She reaches over, grabs the edge of the wool blanket, and rubs it between her thumb and her forefinger again. “There’s still the matter of this, you know?”

My heart starts racing and I laugh, happy to follow her lead. “Is that still there?” I lift up the edge of the blanket and Anna climbs underneath, stretching out next to me. Her arms wrap around my waist and she wedges one of her legs between mine.

“Much better,” she says, sliding her hands under my T-shirt, up my back, kissing me. In a matter of minutes, we both seem to forget about the complications around this whole crazy thing we’re doing. For the rest of the night, it doesn’t seem complicated at all.

6

I wake to the faint sound of water running. I try to lift my head off the pillow to take a better look, but my movement is restricted by the weight of Anna’s head, buried in the crook of my neck.

I kiss her cheek. “Anna,” I whisper. “Wake up.” She tightens her grip on my shoulder and, without opening her eyes, settles into my chest and lets out a happy sigh.

The water sound stops and it’s almost instantly replaced by a light plinking noise. I’m trying to place it when I hear the unmistakable—and extremely loud—whir of a coffee grinder.

Anna jumps and her lids pop open. The second she sees me, she lets out a gasp. She lifts her head and scans the living room.

“It’s okay. We just fell asleep.”

“My dad’s in there,” she whispers, her eyes darting back and forth between the kitchen and me.

“I know. It’s okay,” I repeat, thinking she didn’t hear me the first time.

Her eyes grow even wider. “It’s not okay! He can’t find us like this. He’ll never—” She comes closer, within an inch of my face. “I’m dead.”

“Come on…just tell him we were talking and we fell asleep.” I try to look at the scene from her father’s point of view. Anna’s shirt is back where it belongs but I have no idea where mine is.

“He’ll never believe that.”

I start to speak but she covers my mouth with her hand. “Shhh.” The coffee grinder comes to a stop. She looks at me, wide-eyed. Do something, she mouths. Please.

It takes a second or two for understanding to kick in, possibly because I’m still a little groggy and she’s whisper-shouting at me in the near dark. “You sure?” I mouth back, and she answers my question with a quick, panicky nod.

I find the clock immediately—God knows I stared at it enough last night—and check the time. A little after six thirty. I slide my hands under the blankets, feeling for hers, and when I find them I grip them tight.

Her eyes are already shut.

I kick the blanket onto the floor and squeeze my eyes closed as I picture her room. When I open them, we’re on her bed, wrapped up in the exact same position we were on the couch—Anna curled up into my chest, our hands clenched together, our legs intertwined. I really don’t want to move, but I have to twist away from her so I can read the clock on her nightstand. Six o’clock on the dot.

Minutes pass as we lie side by side, silent and unmoving. Then Anna bends her knees to her chest and starts quietly cracking up.

“See why you need to keep me around,” I whisper, still looking up at the ceiling.

She stretches out and throws her arm over her forehead. Her head falls to one side and she looks at me. “There are lots of other reasons to keep you around.”

I roll over on top of her, my legs straddling her hips, my face only inches away from hers. “So will you?” I kiss her. “Keep me around?”

She inhales sharply. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Good.” I kiss her again. “How are you feeling?”

She crinkles her nose. “A little…twisty. But I don’t feel sick or anything.” She pushes my hair off my face but it just flops back down again. “How about you? How’s your head?”

“It’s good. But you know, I only feel the side effects on the return trip and only if I change time zones. I’m just popping back downstairs.” I look over at the clock and kiss her again. “Unless you keep me here too long.”

Anna glances at the time. “You should probably go. It’s already ten after.”

I plant a kiss on her cheek and then hop off the bed. I give her a little wave. She waves back. “See you downstairs,” I say, closing my eyes and picturing her living room.

My eyelids pop open and I’m standing next to the couch, staring at the jumble of blankets we left behind. I see my shirt on the floor and pull it over my head. Then I crawl back under the covers, where I belong.

Twenty minutes later, Anna’s dad peeks around the corner. He sees that I’m already awake and gives me a wave. I wave back and wonder if he checked in here last time and saw something quite different.

I hear the water running. The coffee beans tumble into the grinder. The whirring sound starts and stops. I wait for a few more minutes and then head toward the kitchen, where I’m greeted by the sounds of dripping and percolating and an unmistakable aroma that makes my mouth water. Anna’s dad is wrapping the cord around the grinder and returning it to its home in the cupboard when he sees me out of the corner of his eye.

“Good morning.”

I lift my chin in his direction. “Good morning, Mr. Greene.”

He leans back against the counter. “How’d you sleep?” He crosses his arms and stares at me, and I feel the adrenaline start racing through my veins.

I rest my hip against the counter opposite him, hoping I appear calm and not at all guilty. I look at him straight on. “Great,” I say. “Thanks for letting me stay last night.”

He stares at me for what feels like a full minute. I hold my breath and try not to move.

Finally he uncrosses his arms and says, “No problem. Glad we could help.” His tone is friendly, and when he turns his back to me, I silently exhale.

He reaches into a high cabinet and pulls out two mugs. “Do you drink coffee, Bennett?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and he reaches into the cabinet again and grabs a third.

7

Two cups of coffee, three tall glasses of water, a bowl of cereal, and a couple of hours later, I leave the Greenes’ and walk the four familiar blocks to Maggie’s house. My heart is beating hard in my chest by the time I reach the porch, and speeds into a whole new gear when I pick up the lion’s-head door knocker.

Sweat drips down the back of my neck and my shirt sticks to my skin. Today the weather may be different, but I’m just as nervous as I was when I stood in this same spot last March, bending the corners of an index card back and forth while I waited for her to answer the door.

I’d just come from the Northwestern student housing office. I had no way of recognizing the penmanship, but as I stood in front of the giant bulletin board, one card stood out, its letters carefully drawn and perfectly slanted, as if someone who cared how it looked had written it. I pulled out the thumbtack and turned it over to verify what I already knew. Then I went straight to the address.

When my grandmother opened the door, I introduced myself as a Northwestern student and asked her if her room was still available to rent. She wore a guarded expression, but nodded, and when I handed her enough cash for the remainder of the quarter—even though I had no intention of staying that long—she invited me in for tea and showed me my new room. But two months later I disappeared without saying a word, leaving behind a closet full of clothes, a brand-new SUV, and a bunch of questions Anna had to do her best to answer for me.

I hear the floorboards creak on the other side of the door. Maggie peeks through the curtains, takes one look at me, and disappears again. Everything’s quiet. No floorboards creaking as she walks away, but no deadbolt snapping either.

Finally, the door opens. She’s wearing a loose-fitting dress that hangs almost to the ground and, as usual, there’s a brightly colored scarf draped around her neck. I look up at her face and when I see her eyes, I lock on to them. They’re blue-gray and striking, but that’s not the reason I can’t stop staring at them. It’s because I know them well. Her eyes are exactly the same color as my mother’s. Exactly the same color as mine. I can’t help wondering if she’s thinking the same thing.

“Hi, Maggie,” I say. For something to do, I shift my backpack from one shoulder to the other.

“Hi.” She stares at me for an uncomfortably long time. But then her forehead wrinkles and her eyes light up and she actually looks happy to see me. “Anna told me you’d come by this week, but she didn’t know when, exactly.” She stands a bit straighter, bracing herself against the side of the door. “Do you want to come in?”

I step into the foyer and follow her to the living room. Sunlight streams in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street. I set my backpack on the floor and sit on the couch.

It’s impossible to ignore the images around me. On every wall and every surface in Maggie’s living room, I see framed photos of my family. Me as an infant in my mother’s arms. Brooke as a little girl, with her long dark hair and her bangs cut straight across her forehead. My mom and dad on their wedding day. We’re everywhere, decorating my grandmother’s home, even though she doesn’t appear in a single photo. I can practically hear the words my mother said every time Brooke or I asked about her: “She only met you once.” Then Mom would show Brooke and me a photograph of the three of us at the zoo. When we’d press her for more information, she’d say that she and her mother had a falling out and that she didn’t want to talk about it.

Maggie catches me staring at the pictures and crosses the room to pick up a silver frame. “Here. You’ll like this one. It’s new,” she says as she hands it to me.

Maggie has a tiny infant me folded up in one arm, and Brooke is by her side, holding Maggie’s other hand. I stare at her. She looks happy. And then I notice the giraffes in the background.

“We went to the zoo,” she says.

I squint at the photo, realizing that it’s the same picture we have back home.

She taps her fingernail against the glass. “I hadn’t met the baby before. You remember that you two have the same name, right?” She shakes her head in disbelief like she always does when she thinks about it.

Maggie settles in to her usual chair and leans forward, like she wants to get a closer look at me, and I feel myself move away from her, my back sinking further into the couch cushions. Something’s not right about this. “You went to San Francisco?”

She adjusts her scarf around her shoulders. “Anna was actually the one who encouraged me to go,” she says, and my stomach drops. “But it might not have been a good idea. My daughter and I got into a fight while I was there and…” Her eyes lock on mine and she looks at me wearing a sad smile. “Let’s just say I’m not so sure when I’ll be going back again.”

I take a deep breath and try not to look panicked about what she just said. The only reason Brooke and I have a picture of the two of us at the zoo with our grandmother—the only reason we ever met Maggie—is that Anna told her to visit?

“So.” She leans back into her chair. “I hear you left town so quickly because of a family emergency. Is everything okay?”

I nod vacantly.

“Good. So are you back here for school, then?” Her word choice is deliberate, and the generic reference to “school” isn’t lost on me. Anna told me over the summer that Maggie found out I was really going to Westlake the whole time.

I avoid the school thing entirely. “I need to go back to San Francisco,” I say, intentionally avoiding this perfect opportunity to come clean. “But I’m planning to come back. To visit.” That is, if Anna wants me to.

Maggie doesn’t say another word, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me, either. She’s waiting me out, and I know I’m supposed to tell her everything because Anna promised her I would when I returned. I check out the photographs again and feel sick to my stomach. Does she have any idea who I am?

I take a deep breath and open my mouth to speak. “There’s—” I start to say, at the same time that she says, “Well—” We both stop in midsentence.

“Were you going to say something?” she asks.

“It’s okay. You go first.”

I wait for her to talk. To tell me she found my red notebook in its hiding place upstairs and pieced everything together. To call me out with such direct questions, I won’t have a choice but to tell her everything. It will come out sloppy and rushed, possibly as a single run-on sentence with very few breaths in between, but the words will be out there and I won’t be able to take them back. And my grandmother will become the fifth person in the world to know who I am and what I can do.

“I was just going to ask if you needed a place to stay when you visit. Your room is still available. If you want it.”

I suck in some air, feeling disappointment that I didn’t expect. “Yeah. Sure,” I say. “That’d be great.”

“Good. I haven’t rented it out yet. I’d certainly prefer it to go to…” She pauses. Say the words. Say, “my grandson.” Tell me you know who I am. Instead she finishes her sentence with “someone I already know.”

She stands up and I do the same. I comb my hair off my forehead and cast my eyes down at the ground. Tell her.

“Maggie…” I say.

Her head springs up. “Yes?”

“I’m…” I can’t do it. I can’t say it. If she already knew about me, that would be one thing. But she doesn’t. At least, I don’t think she does. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

And there it is, that warm smile I remember so well. “And yet, you came back,” she says as she reaches over and grips my arm high up by my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Maybe that’s her way of giving me permission to not tell her. Or maybe I’m just looking to be let off the hook.

“I’m going to go get some sheets for your bed,” she says. “All of your clothes are boxed up in the attic. You can put everything back where it belongs.”

She starts to leave the room, and for some reason I start talking about logistics. “I’ll pay you the same amount, of course. Even though I won’t be here as often.”

She’s walking away, but I can hear her clearly. “It’s your room, Bennett. Come as often as you like and stay as long as you want to.” Then she stops and turns around. “You should decorate it a bit too. Hang up some posters or something. Make it your own.”

Three hours later, I’ve reassembled my bedroom at Maggie’s so it looks exactly the way I left it, a process which has left me soaked in sweat from hauling boxes from a 120-degree attic into a 105-degree bedroom. How can she not have air-conditioning?

As I suspected, my clothing options here are limited to long-sleeved flannels, concert tees, and an assortment of thick sweaters. I dig around in my backpack for a clean shirt and a pair of underwear, and then shuffle across the hallway.

While I was unpacking, Maggie must have been stocking the bathroom with me in mind. Fresh towels hang from the racks, there’s a new bar of soap on the counter, and on the shelf next to the tub I spot a bottle of all-in-one shampoo and conditioner. I turn on the water and toss my sweat-drenched clothes on the floor.

After I’m showered and dressed again, I return to my room and crouch down in front of the giant mahogany armoire that dominates this room. I feel around on the bottom for the lock, and inside I find everything I left behind last time: big stacks of cash, all minted pre-1995, and the red notebook I’ve used to calculate my travels for the last year or so. I pick it up, give the rubber band that holds it together a little snap, and return it to the cabinet.

The twenties in my wallet are from home, so I take them out and stuff them into the opposite comer of the compartment where they won’t get mixed up. Then I count out five hundred dollars in safe bills, fold them into my wallet, and shove all of it into the back pocket of my jeans. I put everything back the way it was.

Downstairs, I find Maggie standing in front of the narrow desk in the foyer with her purse wide open. She fishes out her car keys and then stuffs a bunch of envelopes inside. She looks up and sees me. “Are you all settled up there?”

“Yeah. And thanks for the shampoo and stuff.” She gives me a dismissive flick of her wrist as if it were no big deal.

“I have a doctor’s appointment, but I’ll be back in a few hours.” She gives her keys a little jingle but then stops cold. “Oh… Did you need your car today?” She gives me a confused stare. “I’ve been using it while you were gone.”

When I walked into the dealership last March, I paid cash for the ’95 Jeep Grand Cherokee and figured I’d leave it for Maggie when it was time for me to go home. Which is why I put the title in her name. It’s also why I chose the color blue. “That’s okay. I hoped you would.”

She gives me a funny look, and I’m pretty sure she’s about to start asking questions I don’t want to answer.

“I’ve got to run. I’m meeting Anna in town. Drive the car as much as you want. I’ll just tell you if I need it, okay?” I step onto the porch and pull the door closed behind me.

8

Anna and I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around downtown Evanston shopping for clothes. Anna’s dad gave her money to buy some new running shoes, so we start there. Then we start looking for clothes for me. Plaid Bermuda shorts appear to be in style, but I can’t seem to bring myself to even try them on. Instead, I grab another pair of jeans.

Anna picks out a button-down shirt and holds it up to me for size.

“What do you think?”

I don’t even look at it. I just grab her by the shoulders and pull her into me, and she looks down and laughs when she sees the shirt she picked out smashed in between our chests. “It’s perfect,” I say, and I kiss her, right in the middle of the Gap.

An hour and four stores later, I have a new pair of Chuck Taylors and enough mid-90s fashion to get me through the next few months.

We head over to the deli and order huge subs to eat in the park. We hang out for a long time, talking about everything but the upcoming school year. I ask her about concerts she wants to see, and quiz her about the places she wants me to take her next. She asks me questions about San Francisco, and I tell her how I’ve spent most of my summer skateboarding around the city, climbing on an indoor rock wall, and missing her. I realize how pathetic I sound, but Anna must not hear it that way, because she scoots in closer and hooks her arms around the back of my neck.

She kisses me. When she pulls away, I look straight into her eyes. “What was that for?”

She shrugs. “I just love you.”

“Good. I just love you too.”

She kisses me again. Then she stands up, brushes the dirt off her shorts, and offers her hand to help me up. “Time to get you some music.”

Justin is busy ringing up a customer, but he waves when he sees us come in. Anna waves back, and then leads me down one of the narrow aisles. I twist my head as we walk by the wooden bins, trying to get a better glimpse of the CDs.

We’re near the back of the store looking through the Hot Summer Sounds kiosk when Justin comes up behind us. “You’re back. How was the world?”

Anna flips around. “I don’t know about the world, but Mexico was really, really good,” she says, throwing her arms around him. When Justin hugs her, he closes his eyes. But it must click that I’m standing here watching, because they suddenly spring open and lock on mine. I smile at him as his arms fall to his sides. He takes a big step back.

“Well, I’m glad you’re home,” he says to her.

“Me too.”

He lifts his chin in my direction. “What’s up?” He raises his hand in the air and I start to give him a fist bump, but then I realize that his palm is open. I correct quickly, giving him a high five instead. “So, you’re back.” The inflection in his voice makes it more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. For now.”

Anna shoots me a sideways glance and changes the subject. “What’s this?” she asks, pointing up to the ceiling.

“Latest from Blind Melon.” He gives a disappointed shake of his head. “Nowhere near as good as the last one. I think they’re done.” When Justin turns his back, Anna gives me a questioning look and I return it with a shrug. I’ve never heard of them, so I can only assume he’s right.

“You two catch up, I’m going to go look around.” I’m happy to leave them alone. This place is far too fascinating to spend another second talking when I could be thumbing through the bins.

Hand drawn signs hang from the ceiling and identify each section—R&B, Jazz, Rock. I wander around the record store, picking up CDs and turning them over to read the track lists, adding to my mental list of concerts I want to check out. I’m heading to the Ska section when I spot the poster rack in the far corner.

This proves to be even more entertaining. I stand there for a long time, flipping through the posters, wondering who half of these musicians are, and laughing out loud at the impressive collection of 90s boy bands.

I flip a few more frames and stop. “That one,” I hear Anna say from behind me. I didn’t even know she was standing there. She slides in front of me and taps on Billy Corgan’s chest. “Please tell me you know these guys.”

“Yeah.” I nod, staring at the Smashing Pumpkins, marveling at the ridiculous amount of eyeliner they’re each wearing.

“Have you seen them?” she asks.

I glance around to be sure Justin’s nowhere near us. “Three times,” I say. I rest my chin on Anna’s shoulder and whisper in her ear, “Miami in ’97, Dublin in 2000, Sydney in 2010.”

She tilts her head toward me. I can tell from the look on her face that she’s surprised to hear me share even the slightest hint of future information. “Good,” she says with a satisfied grin. “They’re from Chicago.”

“I know.”

Then I tell her what Maggie said about decorating my room and making it my own. “I could hang this one next to the window. Or maybe on the wall by the closet.” I shrug. “Of course, it’s kind of pointless to put posters on the walls if I won’t be coming back here to visit.”

She bites her lip and stares at me. Then she reaches down into the bin, grabs a rolled-up poster, and hands it to me. When I take it, she turns on her heel and walks away. I’m smiling as I pick out a second one.

By late Friday afternoon, my room at Maggie’s is starting to come together. Anna’s photograph of our beach in La Paz is in a new frame and hanging above my bed. The closet is filled with enough new clothes to take me through the rest of the summer and well into fall, and I already had plenty of stuff to keep me warm this winter. I thumbtacked the postcards that used to be hidden in my top drawer onto the wall above my desk, and I hung a 1995 wall calendar there too, so I wouldn’t forget when I am.

We hung the Weezer poster on the left side of the window and we’re almost done hanging the Smashing Pumpkins on the right. “Down just a bit,” Anna says. “There. Stop.”

“It’s good?” I raise an eyebrow and look over my shoulder at her. When she nods, I tape the corner in place and then take a few steps back to check out the result. “Better?” I ask.

She flops down on the edge of my bed and folds her legs underneath her. Reclining back on her hands, she slowly scans the room. “It’s starting to look like you,” she says. I take my own glance around. She’s right: it does look more like me, but that wasn’t my only intention. I wanted it to look more permanent, partially for me, but also for her.

“What are you going to do if I tell you I don’t want you to keep coming back?” she asks.

I walk toward her, shaking my head. “I don’t know.… Show up in a few weeks, I guess. Say good-bye to you and Maggie. Haul all this stuff up to the attic as slowly as possible, hoping the entire time that you’ll change your mind.”

“You seriously want to keep coming back here?”

I plant both palms on the bed, right next to her hips, and lean over her. “I told you before. I’ll keep coming back until you’re sick of me.” Her lower lip quivers, like she’s trying not to smile. “I don’t know. Something tells me you’re not sick of me yet.”

She stares at me but doesn’t speak for the longest time. “No,” she finally says. “I’m not sick of you yet.”

I brush my lips lightly against hers. “Good,” I whisper.

“So,” she begins, never breaking eye contact, “how would this work, exactly, you…visiting but not…staying?”

“I’ll be here for anything that’s important to you—races, dances, parties, whatever. We’ll plan it all out, down to the minute. You’ll never be surprised.” She fakes a pout. “Well, not in a bad way, that is.” That gets the slightest hint of a smile before her expression turns serious again.

“I’ll know when you’re leaving?”

“Every time.”

“And when you’re coming back again?”

“Every. Time,” I repeat, this time with more emphasis on each word. “I promise.”

“How can you be so certain you won’t get knocked back?” I think about what she said the other night. How she fell apart after I left.

“I’ll never stay longer than a few days. I’ll be in control the whole time. If I ever feel like I’m losing control, I’ll tell you right away.”

She licks her lips and considers me for a moment. I think she’s about to say something, but instead she slides one hand up my arm and around the back of my neck.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay?”

She nods and I feel a smile spread across my face. “Yes,” she says as she hooks her finger into my belt loop and scoots back, giving me a little tug. I climb up and settle in next to her. “But I have a condition.”

I kiss her. “Let’s hear it.”

“You need to tell Maggie who you are.” I pull away from her. My first instinct is to shake my head no, but when I see the look on her face, I decide against it. I bite my tongue and let her finish her thought. “You could come and go without having to hide anything. Besides, don’t you think she deserves to know?

“Also—and this is totally selfish, I realize—but when you left last time, Maggie was the only person I could really talk to. And now you’re going to leave again. And again. And when you do, it would be nice to have one person in my life that I can talk to about you—one person I don’t have to keep your secret from.”

I rake my hands through my hair while I consider her request. I was all ready to tell Maggie the other night, but only because I thought she already knew who I was. I didn’t think I had a choice. But she seems content with the way things are. I certainly am.

I decide to stall. “Do I have to tell her before I leave tonight?” I ask.

She shakes her head no and I blow out a breath. “Just…whenever…”

Whenever. My mind starts racing with all the ways I could tell Maggie who I am, and each time, my stomach knots up. But then Anna wipes the whole thing from my mind when she scoots in closer and kisses me hard, her hands on my skin and her hair everywhere, reminding me of all the reasons I’m here and all the reasons I have to keep coming back and the fact that I’ll do anything to make her happy. When she pulls away, she smiles and says, “Emma’s eighteenth birthday is in three weeks and her parents are throwing her a party. It’ll be embarrassingly over the top.”

“Then I’ll be here.”

“I have a few cross-country races you could come to. And homecoming’s in October. Wait, we need to write this down.” She hops up off the bed and comes back holding a pen and the wall calendar, and over the next fifteen minutes, the rest of our schedule falls into place. Homecoming. Cross Country State Finals. Thanksgiving. Christmas. We have plans to see each other every two or three weeks, but I can already tell that won’t be enough. I’m not sure how to do it yet, but I’m already concocting ways to squeeze in more time with her without making her parents suspicious or running the risk of getting knocked back.

Anna closes the calendar and tosses it on the floor. “When are you leaving?” she asks.

“Soon,” I say as I play with her curls. “Maggie will be home in a few hours. I should take off before she gets back; otherwise I’ll have to stage some elaborate cab ride to the airport or something.”

She reaches up and brushes my hair off my forehead. “I want to be here when you go.”

I can’t imagine how that’s going to make this whole thing easier, but she looks pretty determined. “Are you sure?” I ask.

She nods and says, “Positive. In fact, do you mind if I stick around for a little while…afterward?” Her nose crinkles up. “Or is that just weird?”

I smile as I picture Anna and Maggie, hanging out in the kitchen drinking tea. “Stay as long as you want to. I bet Maggie would like the company. You can even come over when I’m gone.”

She rolls her eyes before she covers her face with her hand. “I did that last time you left. I moped around in here for hours.” She looks at me and says, “I even put on your coat,” and then hides her face again. She lets out a sigh and shakes her head, like she can’t believe she’s admitting this to me. But I like the idea of her wearing my coat. I like the idea that this room might help us feel some kind of connection to each other, even when we’re apart. I pull her hand away from her face and knit her fingers together with mine.

Before I can say anything, she changes the subject. “You should probably leave Maggie a note before you go.”

“Good idea,” I say. I come up on my knees and pin her hands above her head. I kiss her neck and she squirms underneath me. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Downstairs on the narrow desk in the hallway, I spot the Post-its right away. I write a note telling Maggie I’ll be here in three weeks, and stick it on the shelf next to the basket where she always drops her keys.

Then I stare at it. I picture Anna, sitting in my room after I’ve left, alone and wishing she weren’t. I picture myself doing the same thing in a different room two thousand miles and seventeen years away. I don’t want to leave. But at least I’m here now.

I race back up the stairs and open the door.

And she’s right where I left her.